


brand new sounds (in my mind)

by kadma



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Holding Hands, Pre-Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:44:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadma/pseuds/kadma
Summary: Wendy can feel the unsteady thrum of Willow's pulse. So, she is human after all.Written for Grief in my@hc_bingo card.





	brand new sounds (in my mind)

Wendy misses people. In the layman's terms, in words too weary to repeat, in a sadistic futility, she attempts to impart upon Willow the depth of her paradoxical despair. She says she misses people: she means she really misses Abigail.

Willow flicks her thumb against that violently useful contraption, her bottomless gaze fixated on the whirrs and flickers. Wendy feels the green-eyed devil coaxing its tongue into her ear, working its way into her brain. To feel such attachment to a soulless being, an object unable to be lost to Death's eager hand must be wonderful. But there's an inhuman air around this girl, this creature whose trail she follows and whose words she ingests. From that very soul permeates an aura of the supernatural, of a being that exists beyond this miserable plane of existence.

Wendy curls her fingers gently around Abigail's flower with one hand, and with the other, she reaches out through the chasm of space and unfamiliarity between them and touches Willow's hand.

Willow leaps into the air like she's been playing too close to the flames. But Wendy's seen her dance through burning forests and emerge entirely, wholly purified. She can feel the unsteady thrum of Willow's pulse. So, she is human after all.

"Abigail has informed me of my cold hands," states Wendy. Yet Willow appears not to hear; instead, she takes a journey into her own mind, to a place where Wendy is not permitted to follow.

She stares at her hands with a brazen amazement before she speaks.

"It's been--"

"Quite some time?"

"Yeah, and I don't think there's any other people here. But you don't seem lonely."

Wendy smiles sadly.

"My sister has never once left my side."

Willow's hands dart back to the lighter, manipulating the cog with the ease of a frequent user. She looks at Wendy and at the pink petals between her fingers and shivers. A shower of sparks and flame shine over her wan complexion, illuminating the darkness of her hair in contrast. Willow stares into the roaring pit as if it could stare back.

"Come sit next to the fire," she says, without so much as a blink. "It's great."

Wendy shifts a few inches to the left, until she can inhale Willow's sooty, charred scent that, no doubt, is as ingrained into her skin as it is her clothes.

Just by looking, Wendy can discern this much: the only touch Willow has known is metal. Trust is something she only gives her lighter, and, on occasion, Bernie, that stuffed bear she's confessed to owning once upon a time. The inevitability of the flame and its ability to devour is what pulls her forward, day by day.

That is, until an encounter with a fellow creature strikes her into doubt. Just like a match strikes out a spark.

Wendy takes Willow's fingers with her own, intertwining them in a fire-and-ice amalgamation that prevents one from destroying the other. Willow sighs. Wendy sighs more deeply, and they watch the flames crackle and spit with artistic majesty, in the way that only Willow's works can.


End file.
